


A Cure for Melancholia

by isamariposa



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Authority Figures, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Blow Jobs, Caning, Casual Sex, Corporal Punishment, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Whump, this fic is going to places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isamariposa/pseuds/isamariposa
Summary: "I will not have Francis's melancholy touch you.  I'll not have it. Do you hear me?"James will do anything to cheer up Sir John - with Dundy's (un)helpful suggestions.
Relationships: Commander James Fitzjames/Captain Sir John Franklin, Commander James Fitzjames/Lt Henry T. D. Le Vesconte
Comments: 45
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is a bit fudged.

* * *

"I am telling you, Dundy. Crozier's sour mood spoils Sir John's in a most unfortunate manner. I hate sitting there, watching him grow vexed and melancholic when his friendship is rejected time and again."

"Mm," Dundy said, nursing the bottle of wine they were sharing in James's cabin. "Can't have that."

"No indeed. He should be in the highest of spirits so he can lead the men. Damned Crozier!"

"Yes, damn him," Dundy muttered and raised his glass as if toasting. "Short of tossing him overboard - onto the hard snow, mind you - what would you suggest?"

"That is a brilliant solution, you know." James huffed. "But I've got to raise Sir John's spirits somehow. What do you think would please him?"

"Sir John? God only knows! _You_ would know. You've spent the most time with him."

"Something godly. Something with the Scriptures. A play based on a Bible passage, perhaps?"

"I am not going to be part of any play of yours, I am warning you now," Dundy said, to James's chagrin. 

"Bah. What then? Perhaps I could sing."

"James. Please do not sing."

"Good grief, there is no pleasing you, is there! You've got an appalling appreciation of my multiple talents." James reached for the wine bottle, cradling it in his arms and away from Dundy with a petulant gesture. "I do not know why I bother sharing my precious provisions with you."

"Oy now," Dundy protested, trying to reclaim it in vain.

"Tut, tut. Suggest something worthwhile, or die of thirst on the way to your cabin."

"Christ, you are every bit a tyrant when you're set on an idea." Dundy scoffed, causing a few stray bits of silver hair to flutter away from his forehead. "Fine. I do have a marked appreciation for some of your particular talents. And say, do you know what might cheer Sir John? A good romp, a bit of pully hawly - a back scuttle to soothe all wrongs. You are exceptionally equipped to provide that for him on this ship."

"Henry, for God's sake! Be serious now. The man is pious like a nun, that is the last thing on his mind now that he's away from his wife."

"I am deathly serious." Dundy raised an eyebrow. "It must be very much on his mind now that he's away from his wife."

"He would never," James protested.

"Wouldn't he?"

"No, indeed. He would find it sinful and abominable and very much against the Articles. As we should, mind you."

"Hmm. Not even if you dress as a woman? And let him call you Jane?"

"That is preposterous!" Much to his annoyance, James felt his face warming at the suggestion. "Borderline impertinent of you, in fact. How dare you! Don't you forget I am still owed some respect in this ship, even from you."

"Oh yes, James, that is why I suggested it quite respectfully instead of describing it more vividly. And I think I am in a unique position here to remark how very fetching that sight would be, even for a pious man. If it's anything like [that time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722074) you dressed up in India, quite frankly, I do not see how he'd resist."

"You are speaking utter nonsense," James said, not as firmly as he would have liked. Dundy had the uncanny ability to roam in the most tortuous alleys of his psyche and dig out the filth that lied dormant there with appalling ease. He cleared his throat.

"I am not and you know it," Henry said with a laconic smile. "But now then. I've suggested something worthwhile, have I not? Be a dear and do hand over the bottle."

"No." James scowled at him. "That was not worthwhile at all. I think you've had too much to drink, Henry."

"Have I, now? Fine, then. Keep your bottle and finish it up yourself." Dundy rose, not looking annoyed like James hoped, but wearing a most amused smirk. "You've clearly not had enough to drink to-night if you will not at least consider my idea."

"Get out of here, you fiend," James grumbled, and jerked his head away with great affectation when Henry bent down for a kiss. It landed on his cheek, noisily and rather comically.

"You impossibly spoiled man." Dundy let out a soft laugh. "Suit yourself, then. If your mood changes, you know where to find me."

 _I will not go,_ James told himself, and tried very hard not to think of that time in India, or how nice that dress was, or how keen Henry had been. But not twenty minutes later he made his discreet and defeated way down the ship's sleepy passageway. Dundy was, unsurprisingly, still wide awake - and even in the dark he could make out his satisfied smirk when he slipped in the narrow bunk with him.

"Be quiet now," James whispered with some exasperation at the invisible smugness. It so happened that Henry's hand slid down just where he wanted it to be.

"Only if you admit what a brilliant idea I had."

"I will admit nothing." James bit back a hiss of pleasure. "But won't you call me Jane?"

They had to be quiet in the otherwise noiseless ship, damned it all, but Henry barely muffled back a laugh, and James could not help joining him as well.

"Yes, my darling," he whispered into James's ear as he tightened his grip on him. "My good girl Jane. Won't you wet your drawers for me?"

"Yes," James said. "Yes."

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buggery? In my ship?  
> It's more likely than you think, sir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this is a fic that features caning - updated the tags

* * *

"...and with the worst of the winter past us, we may start spending more time outdoors," Dundy concluded, hands clasped behind his back as he addressed Sir John. "Therefore, sir, if I may offer a suggestion?"

"Of course," Sir John said, puffing on his pipe.

Le Vesconte took a deep breath and looked towards the door, as if to be sure the three of them were alone in the Great Cabin. He spared a glance for James, a brief one full of malicious mischief, before he went on.

"This long winter has been quite taxing on the men, cooped up indoors with little distractions. Gore and I have done what we can to keep their spirits high while avoiding the kind of idleness that often leads to unsavoury behaviour - but I'm afraid we've only so many pairs of eyes and ears, sir. The men are in dire need of physical activity to turn their minds from the... unfortunate passions that this confinement may have aroused, away from their wives and sweethearts. I beg your forgiveness for raising this subject, sir, and I daren't be more colourful for fear of offending your sensibilities..."

"Oh, pray do not spare our sensibilities, Le Vesconte," James quipped, both eager to see him squirm and to have some revenge on him for broaching this subject. Undoubtedly this was an attempt of his to carry the plan to 'cheer up Sir John' to a good end.

"Now, now," Sir John said calmly. "There is no need to be crude. I think we all understand what Henry here is alluding to. Are you saying, Lieutenant, that you have reason to suspect buggery in this ship? In _my_ ship?"

Dundy did not blush. Heavens, he did not even blink. James admired his composure, even if he knew the reasons for it were to his own detriment.

"Only suspicions, sir. I would inform you of their names at once if I had them."

Another glance at James, a lazy, provocative one, that made him grow hot in the face - luckily, Sir John was too distressed to notice.

"That is most unfortunate," he said, sounding rather rattled. "This cannot go on. I will be sure to use relevant passages more often in my Sunday sermons."

"A sound idea, sir," James said, and rolled his eyes at himself inwardly for his unnecessary obsequiousness. Henry remained impassive.

"That should curb their untoward vices in no time. And, Lieutenant, you will be more diligent, I hope?"

"Of course, sir. But if I may suggest...?"

"Ah, yes, you had a suggestion. What do you propose to banish this vileness from our ship?"

 _Vileness._ James allowed himself a discreet sigh. It was as he feared: Sir John would be too set in his ways to ever consider engaging in such activities himself. He glared at Dundy, but he was not looking at him.

"Games, sir," Dundy said. "A good game of foot-ball, as we called it in my school, though I do believe the rules changed from college to college. Five-a-side, or more. We could easily create some four teams and match them for hours on end outside on the snow. It would foster camaraderie and provide a suitable physical distraction."

"That hardly seems fair," Sir John objected. "It sounds like a reward for poor behaviour."

"It may raise morale, sir," James said. "Remind them that not all is lost, especially with the return of daylight."

"If the Terrors join us, we could have even more teams," Dundy added.

"Fine chance at that," James said with a scoff. "Their Captain would not let them out of his sight."

"Don't forget, James, that they are also under my command," Sir John said. He sounded a little piqued. "If I say they are to come, they will. Very well, Henry, you have my permission to organise your tournament. Please keep me informed of your progress."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Before leaving the cabin, Henry looked at James again with a hint of a smile. A smug smile. _Go on,_ his gaze said, _I've laid out all the work for you._ James narrowed his eyes and glanced away from him with disdain. Once the door was closed, Sir John reached for his pipe again.

"Lieutenant Le Vesconte has a great grasp of command," he said.

"He does, sir," James said, eager to sing his friend's praises. "He was my second when I captained the Clio. It was my first post, and his as well in such capacity, but I daresay it wouldn't have been as smooth as it was without him. Every day I found myself astonished at how lucky I was to have him. He sees everything, hears everything, fixes everything even before he's told."

Here James interrupted himself, worried that perhaps he'd said too much. But Sir John did not seem particularly shocked or disapproving.

"Hm," he said, and continued smoking. He did look a little crestfallen. So much for 'cheering him up'. It was time for a frontal attack.

"Sir," James said, and took a deep breath. "I hope you are not taking his report as a shortcoming of yours. Such liaisons are unfortunately common during long voyages, as I am sure you well know, and are in no way a reflection of the virtue of their Captain."

"Oh, I do know that." Sir John put his pipe back down and crossed his hands over the table. "But it _is_ a shortcoming, my dear James. As their leader, both spiritual and earthly, I have failed to shepherd them into the ways of the Lord."

"Some men just cannot be shepherded, I'm afraid."

Sir John let out a small laugh. "Indeed they cannot. I have seen my share of those in my long years. Even so, I wish I could be spared this abomination under my command."

James considered giving up: the difficulty seemed insurmountable. But the thought of returning to Dundy and admitting defeat filled him with anticipated exasperation, enough to trudge on in spite of (or perhaps because of?) the clear danger of the path he was threading on.

"One may make a case for this particular abomination, sir, in the unusual circumstances we find ourselves in."

"What can you possibly mean?" Sir John said with sharp disapproval, enough to send an alarmed thrill down James's spine.

"Alone, in the darkness, surrounded by the unforgiving ice, where no man has ever throdden... I mean this as no blasphemy, but with the devotion of a man who loves the Lord. Surely God, in his infinite mercy, could find a way to forgive a weakness of the flesh in his despairing children. Lust is, after all, a capital sin, but the lesser of the capital sins, is it not?"

Sir John remained silent. _Good God,_ James thought, _have I gone too far?_ He tried to think of a way to unsay it - perhaps he could claim it was a mere academic musing.

"You do blaspheme, James," Sir John said at last. "I suppose many a sin gets excused with such libertine thoughts. You are right on one account, however, that lust is one of the lesser sins, and perhaps more easily forgiven. At least it isn't pride, or wrath, and God knows we have enough of those in this expedition. But it still chagrins me to find this is your thinking."

This was diametrically the opposite reaction James hoped to arouse. He was supposed to ward off Sir John's melancholy, not cause it.

"I beg for your forgiveness, sir," he said hurriedly. "Please consider it an excess of scholarly enquiry on my part, and not my true position on the matter."

"It chagrins me," Sir John repeated firmly, "and I do not believe I can tolerate it coming from you. You are, after all, my second aboard this ship, and I do expect you to uphold certain values."

"Of course," James said, with the unpleasant sensation of losing his footing more and more with every word. "I do uphold those values, sir. I apologise profoundly if I have caused offense."

"Offense has been caused, nevertheless, and as such it must be punished. Do you agree?"

Sir John looked almost affable as he asked this. James felt his mouth go dry. Short of hanging him, Sir John was somewhat limited in what kind of public punishment he could hand out to a high-ranking officer, though James supposed that if it were to remain between the two of them creativity would certainly have no limits. The same thrill as earlier ran down his back again. Perhaps not all was lost. After all, many a filthy novel began in such a way.

"I would not see you ill at ease on my account, sir," he said, with great deference. "Please do as you see fit with me."

Sir John let out a sigh and closed his eyes briefly, as if lost in thought - undoubtedly pondering his next move. Across from him, James sat as nonchalant as his eagerness allowed, doing his best to look chastised and yet not overly worried. When Sir John opened his eyes, there was a strange glint in them, too calm and too solemn to be considered lust, yet unlike any way he'd looked at James before.

"There is a key in my cabinet," Sir John said, and gestured towards said cabinet otherwise full of books. "It opens a trunk down in the hold - my trunk. You will find a number of artifacts there, costumes, jewels, better suited for a carnivale. Pay them no mind. If you search well, you will also find a cane. You are to bring it here with you."

If James had been drinking tea, he would have sputtered it in shock. "A cane?" he repeated in disbelief. "The... walking aid, or the schoolboy kind?"

"The schoolboy kind." Sir John gave an emphatic nod. "Any objections?"

"It seems a little... juvenile, but I think I am hardly in a position to object," James said, trying to sound quite unaffected, and not at all like the benjo hammering in his chest.

"So you aren't," Sir John said, and smiled. "It is, however, a most suitable instrument when wielded correctly, and its expediency and discretion are commendable."

James had nothing to answer to that, still wavering between disbelief and vague arousal.

"Now hurry along," Sir John added. "The sooner you bring it, the sooner it will all be over and forgiven."

  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dundy has some instructive advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating has been upped to Explicit on account of the next chapter!
> 
> Still editing the main event, sorry to dawdle. But... anticipation is half the punishment :D

* * *

The first thing James saw when he stepped out of Sir John's cabin was Dundy, who looked very much like he'd been eavesdropping - and who did absolutely nothing to pretend he had not.

"You have _got_ to stop doing that," James scolded, after making sure the door was closed behind himself.

"What! You'd do the same in my place," Dundy said, and raised one eyebrow. "Besides, I heard next to nothing. A great deal of talking. I expected you to be in the throes of passion by now."

"Be quiet," James said and tried to walk past him, but Henry did not let him.

"Oh dear. You must be losing your touch," he teased.

"Be quiet, if you know what's good," James hissed, and motioned for him to follow him down to the hold. 

This was the coldest and most unwelcoming part of the ship. Few men ventured down there except for fetching supplies or seeing to the ship's machinery. In his days as a midshipman, this was where briefer trysts took place, but James prided himself in never having stooped that level of desperation, preferring to be on land instead - or having a steady, higher-ranked mate with his own cabin. He shivered as he stepped down, the peculiarity of his present errand hitting him full force. The lantern cast a warm glow, however, and James was able to find Sir John's belongings with ease.

Dundy gasped when the trunk was lifted open. 

The exceptionally large box was filled with dozens of costumes of all kinds: dresses for ladies, knightly garb, animal furs, clownish outfits... All of them complete with matching accessories. James pulled one after the other, marvelling at this hidden talent of Sir John's for merrymaking. 

"Say, what's all this for?" Henry asked. He pulled out the loveliest dress, flowery enough to fill James with a pang of wanting. "It's perfect for you! Is this what he asked you to fetch?"

"Not quite," he said, somewhat mournfully. "But I do wish it was."

The cane was lying at the bottom of the trunk, next to what could be a headmaster costume, black and severe, or perhaps a clergyman's. James pulled it out with some hesitation, bemused at how little it weighed. One of its ends curved into a loop where it would be held. The other end, thin and rigid, looked very much like it would sting.

"Oh hoh," Dundy said. "You don't say?"

"Alas," James said, and laughed to mask his unease. "Will it hurt much, you think?"

"Well, yes!" Dundy looked at him with surprise. "Surely you know. Weren't you ever hit at school?"

"I did not go to school, remember?" James gave himself a test hit on his palm. It stung, but not overly so. "But Wills did describe some beatings at Eton in abundant detail. It did not sound very pleasant."

"It's absolutely ghastly! At least, my younger self thought so."

James made the cane swish in Henry's direction - his intent was playful, but Dundy jumped away in alarm, which convinced him that he indeed was not keen at all on the instrument.

"My poor old Harry," he said, his voice full of mockery. "Were you caned a bit too much as a schoolboy? Were you very bad?"

"I was," Henry said. "I went through several drawers a term on account of the headmaster's zeal on my behind. Can't say it stopped me from getting into mischief, however."

"Ha, that does sound like you. But it cannot be worse than a lashing, I imagine. I survived one of those."

 _"You_ were lashed? What! When? What for?"

"Just four lashes. It was in Trieste." James pursed his lips, disliking the memory. "A stupid row, entirely the other fellow's fault."

"Of course it was." Dundy laughed. "Well, I've never been lashed, so I cannot compare." He reached for the cane and ran a respectful finger on it. "He won't draw blood with this, if he knows how to handle it. But I would not like to find myself in your shoes just now."

"Come now, a punishment for children cannot be all that bad. And it will raise Sir John's spirits, which will make it all worth it. Was it not one of your scandalous French novels that began with a caning?"

"That was a birching. Which is, as a matter of fact, _not all that bad,_ and might rouse you for the kind of play you have in mind. But I do not believe you will feel overly amorous with your arse covered in welts."

James winced a little. "Welts or not, I have it on good authority - the good authority being _you_ \- that I happen to have a very fine arse. Fine enough to tempt him, perhaps, once he sees it bared."

"Bared!" It was Henry's turn to wince, perhaps too theatrically. "You are mad and you will regret this. Don't you come crying to me when it's over."

"I will not, for God's sake." James stepped closer to him with a smirk, twisting the cane playfully. "Look at you. In our long years together I never considered you might be an expert on these matters. I daresay I've missed out on a whole lot."

"So you have!" Henry laughed heartily and stroked his arm. "And I as well. When we are on land again, we shall have to correct this oversight."

James glanced at Dundy's mouth and considered kissing him - the kind of deep, intent kiss that would put himself very much in the mood for what was to come, against a wall, bodies pressed close together, pawing each other's clothes off. But a modicum of decency stopped him: it seemed a betrayal of sorts to jump into another man's arms when still on Sir John's errand. He cleared his throat.

"Hm, I, I'd better go back upstairs now. I have kept him waiting too long."

"Poor you. Yes, go. Take one of the dresses with you! He can lift up your skirts and cane you to his heart's content."

"Good God, Henry! That will shock him to death. Hells, that shocks _me_ to death."

"But you like it." Dundy winked at him. "Go on, scamper off then. Meet your unfortunate fate."

James walked past him, ignoring the lovely dress with all of his willpower, and began climbing up the ladder. But he stopped midway and frowned.

"Don't eavesdrop, do you hear me?" he said, as quietly as possible.

"Are you kidding? I would not miss it for the world," Dundy replied just as discreetly and indeed followed him to the door of the great cabin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir John canes James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed/added some tags.

* * *

Sir John was still smoking his pipe when James entered, but he had removed his Captain's jacket and kept the white vest underneath, which made his bearing no less formal. He smiled at James with a great deal of fondness, enough for him to let go of his misgivings about what was to transpire.

"I brought what you requested, sir," he said, and placed the cane on the table gingerly.

"Good," said Sir John. 

He reached for it and began examining it calmly. It seemed laughably small and lithe in his large hands, fit for a boy indeed. James tried not to fidget with impatience and crossed his arms behind his back. 

"Have you anything to say for yourself before we begin?" Sir John asked with a solemn edge in his voice, and met James's gaze just then.

"No, sir." James licked his lips and tried not to smirk. "That is to say, I do restate my apologies."

"But you know they are not enough."

"I know, sir. I am in your hands. And I regret having disappointed you."

"My dear James, you have not disappointed me. I am doing this out of love for you. As a simple correction."

Out of _love_ for him. James stared at him, the playful mood suddenly knocked out of him. A desire to please Sir John swelled within him, gnawing him inside and displacing the lewdness that had driven him to fetch the cane. His cheeks felt rather hot, but he hoped he managed to keep a dignified face.

"Thank you, sir."

"Let us proceed," Sir John said as he rose. "I'm afraid it's been quite a while since I last did this. You may have to excuse my lack of practice." 

Was a lack of practice to his advantage or not, James wondered. Was this perhaps a way to excuse a subdued performance in advance? Intrigued, he gave a brief nod and stepped back to let Sir John move around the cabin.

"Bend over the table," he instructed, "that will be just the right height."

James stared down at the table where they'd had so many officer meetings and tea, presently devoid of teacups or books or writing paper. Only the pipe lied on it, dead in the center. He reached for the waistband of his trousers and began undoing the buttons.

"Oh," said Sir John. "That will not be necessary."

He sounded a little shocked. James looked over his shoulder. Sir John was standing just behind him, cane in his hand, and his gaze had a healthy, eager expression that had never been there before.

"I think it will be," James said, recovering his earlier sense of mischief. 

This was, after all, his best asset and he intended to put it to good use. He'd given his coat to Henry before entering, and his shirt and vest would not overly hinder the view. He pulled down his trousers and his drawers with the same movement, baring himself, and let them slide down mid-thigh. He heard Sir John suck in a deep breath. James bent over the table, exposing his arse even more. There was a long, delicious silence, during which he felt the crisp cool of the ship on his exposed skin. 

"I had thought you deserved twelve cuts," Sir John said, his voice still a little rattled. "But I had not intended to give them on the bare. I will reduce it to six."

"Do not go easy on me, sir," James said, rather foolishly. "I will not have peace until you've had your satisfaction."

He glanced over his shoulder again. His boldness had the intended effect: Sir John was licking his lips.

"So be it," he said, and there was a satisfied finality to his tone.

Sir John rested the cane flat over James's arse, as if measuring where he would strike with small taps that did not hurt at all. Then - a whooshing sound, a flash behind him, and the cane struck James with a terrible sting. He gasped far more loudly than he'd have liked, utterly surprised by the searing pain traversing his bare flesh. Once the initial sting passed, a burning, more lasting pain flared across his backside where the edge of the cane had landed. As he was catching his breath from the first impact, Sir John struck him a second time.

Christ above, it _hurt._

James felt his eyes go wide with the scorch of the second hit, just below where the first had landed. Oh, Dundy had tried to warn him, and he had been absolutely right. This was torture - and it had only just begun! He considered begging for a respite: after all, Sir John had wanted to give only six strikes, but he'd gone and been all cocky and thought he could endure more. He clenched his jaw. He would not beg. The third and fourth strikes were shocking agony, and James's knees almost gave way under himself. He wondered, belatedly, whether anyone on the ship - aside from Dundy at the door - could hear the noise of the caning. There was a smacking sound with each hit, but not overly loud. Not for lack of force: Sir John was not holding back in the least. The subdued noise, however, impressed upon him until he came to dread it as much as the impact, and he flinched with the fifth strike, and more so with the sixth.

"There, you dirty, impudent lad. You've had half what you're due, yet you still deserve more," Sir John scolded calmly, and James realised with alarm that he was too addled to find a witty reply.

The fire had spread to his entire arse by then, no longer limited to the smarting places where the cane had landed. It could have been all over by then, he reminded himself angrily, and closed his fists on the table on account of his damned bravado. With the seventh strike Sir John, whether by wicked design or by oversight, struck him exactly where one of the earlier hits had landed, doubling the burning to unbelievable heights. A muted whimper escaped James's lips. He almost jerked away to put an end to it all, but a stubborn sense of pride kept him in place. He felt himself trembling in anticipation. When the cane cracked on him next, he could not help a little cry: again, Sir John hit him just on an earlier strike - no accident at all. _I must be quiet,_ he chided himself, but he was unable to stop more cries, hoarsely, once, twice, too many times. There was nothing in the world but pain. 

He'd lost count entirely when he noticed that the hits were no longer raining on him. 

It was over.

James breathed out through gritted teeth to steady himself: some mortifying, unexpected, ridiculous tears had found their way to his eyes. He'd broken numerous bones, for God's sake, he'd had open surgery on himself and endured tropical maladies: far worthier occasions to blubber about like a boy. But in a way, it was fitting, was it not? It certainly went well with the indignity of such a juvenile punishment and with the quasi-paternal attitude Sir John had adopted. 

His prick thought it a great moment to swell just then, though it was a stirring and not a full hardness yet. It seemed out of place, embarrassing, and for all his earlier boasting about his charms, James thought he'd rather not step away from the table just yet. It distracted him enough from the pain, or rather, it increased the pain to a degree where it was indistinguishable from pleasure, and he gave up trying to understand whether the source of his incongruous delight came from his prick or from the soreness of his backside.

Sir John, however, stepped closer. James heard the footsteps approaching behind him and then stopping. He was still breathing rather loudly, and only then did he notice Sir John was as well. A hand - Sir John's hand. The hand came to rest on his battered arse, cupping one cheek gently. This moan James did not hold back, and his prick stirred even more. Sir John was stroking him, outright caressing him. The hand was calloused and rough, a little cold, which was a marvelous contrast against the fire of his behind. James rested his forehead on the table, the plain hardness of the wood comforting somehow, enough for him to turn his head to the side and lie his cheek on it. He could see Sir John with the corner of his eye: his hair was all tousled in disarray, a rare sight, and his face had grown red with the exertion. It was a good look on him, James thought. Hardy. Strong.

"Now that's a good boy," Sir John said with much affection, and also very matter-of-factly. "You will not make that mistake again, will you?"

"No, sir," James managed to answer. 

He wanted to be stroked more; for a brief, maddening moment he imagined Sir John's fingers slipping between his cheeks to touch him there like a lover might. Instead, all he got was a soft pat on his arse, which in normal circumstances might have just been a little tap, but in his current predicament brought more torment - and caused his prick to jolt to full hardness.

"Please," he whimpered, entirely by accident. He should have felt embarrassed by it, but that was hardly possible in his already too vulnerable position.

"What is it?" Sir John asked. He touched James's hair with the same hand that struck him, brushing some damp locks from his forehead. "I trust you are all right?"

"Yes," James said, liking the hand far too much. He wanted to lick it.

"Dress yourself, then," Sir John said, "and let us put all this excitement behind us."

James straightened up. Instead of doing as he was told, he stared down at his stiffness. The mischief had apparently not been beaten out of him yet, because he pulled up his drawers and trousers, but he did not button them up. He turned to face Sir John, deliberately exposing himself to him - his reddened prick, eager for attention, stood out of the opening of his trousers. 

Sir John's eyes widened, and he let out a huffing sound which was not all that disapproving.

"What is this?" he said, and the sternness in his voice did not match the way his gaze lingered on James's privates. "Put that away."

There was a visible bulge in Sir John's trousers - James could have let out a shout of triumph at the sight. 

"I will if you put yours away as well, sir," he said, emboldened by his finding.

"You have learned nothing from your punishment, have you!" Sir John's tone was forceful, exasperated. He stepped closer to James, grabbing him by the arm. "Have you not had enough?"

He was still holding the cane: James realised this too late when it cracked on his arse once more, and though he was now clothed the hit landed in a diagonal due to their awkward positioning. He moaned, and gasped, and shuddered as pain flared in a crisscross on the earlier marks. Both thrilled and alarmed with the turn things were taking, James dared to reach down with his free hand and cup Sir John over the trousers. The stiffness was most healthy for a man his age, and the girth of it intriguing. The sound that escaped the Captain's lips was glorious, pure shock mingled with poorly restrained passion.

"Unhand me at once," he commanded, but James did not let go. Sir John struck him again, this time more viciously than ever before, and James yelped. "I will beat you bloody until you desist!" he threatened.

"Then do it, sir," James said, hoarsely, as he gave him a firm squeeze. "But let me do this too."

"A sin! A, a gross violation of the Articles," Sir John said. He sounded incoherent. He did not step away, nor did he hit any more. He was breathing very heavily.

"It isn't buggery if it goes in my mouth, sir."

Silence. Sir John did not argue against this very convenient interpretation. His grip loosened on James's arm, which allowed him to lift that hand and undo Sir John's trousers in two quick strokes, afraid he would change his mind. For that same reason he went down on his knees: to appear less threatening. 

He glanced up. 

Sir John was staring at him wide-eyed, his gaze wild and fascinated and his mouth hanging open in shock. Without breaking eye contact, James pulled Sir John's prick out of the trousers, gave it a slow tug all over its length that drew a hiss out of the Captain, and took it in his mouth. He played with the tip enough to have the foreskin pull back gently, and now unhindered James fell into a quick rhythm up and down the shaft. The modest length allowed him to have it slide all the way into his mouth, and he felt it throbbing eagerly against his tongue.

"You wicked lad," Sir John whispered, thighs trembling with pleasure against him, "you harlot, this is a skill you should not have, filthy boy, James my dear."

He should have found the name-calling funny and clumsy, yet it filled him with a longing so keen that James reached down to handle himself. But Sir John tapped him across the shoulders with that blasted cane, though it did not hurt, and he gave a tug on James's hair.

"Don't," he said, his sternness back full force. "I forbid you to. There will be no onanism on my ship."

James made a sound of protest on Sir John's prick, but he relented when he felt the hand stroking his hair most lovingly, giving him encouraging pats and caressing him with unexpected tenderness. Oh, he'd do anything Sir John asked, he would. It still took all of his willpower to remove his hand from his aching cock and leave it unstimulated. He focused on bobbing up and down, then, increasing his pace with frustrated zeal. It was not long until he felt Sir John's legs shaking. The warm seed filled his mouth - just then, as if he were shocked, Sir John took a brisk step back with a gasp and a good half of his discharge ended up on James's face as well. It should have annoyed him (in fact, he could not think of an instance when this practice, whether by accident or by design, had not annoyed him in the past), and yet it seemed fitting and natural that Sir John would finish on him in this way.

The cane fell from Sir John's hands. James watched him step further back and turn away from him. He buttoned up his trousers with trembling hands and rested an arm on the bookshelf, leaning on it as if trying to catch his breath, to gather his wits - to cover his shame. _He is going to ask me to leave,_ James realised, and his hand found his prick again. 

Sir John would surely deny having taken any pleasure in their tryst, much like Peter before the rooster, but James had seen him, James had tasted him, James still wore the evidence of his delight on his person - and he would not forget it. He'd been explicitly forbidden to handle himself, but he suspected Sir John was in too much of a rapture to really mind him just then. Leaning back to sit on his heels and using the uncomfortable sensation that sitting caused him after the caning to his advantage, James began frigging himself in quick strokes. It would not be long, he was already so close to the edge.

"My dear boy," Sir John said. "You'd better not do that here."

He sounded gentle, somehow. James looked up to meet his gaze, hand still on his cock.

"But this is all you," he said. His mouth had gone dry and his voice sounded raspy. "Yours. Sir. Please?"

"No, no, James. I do not wish to see it. This is a line you and I must not cross, despite the love I have for you."

And James still obeyed, as if in a daze, he did as he was told and dropped his hand and stared down at his aching prick in dismay. An eager droplet had formed on the tip, like a single trembling tear.

"Now go back to your cabin," Sir John added. "And be sure to repent when you say your prayers tonight."

How was he able to sound so calm, so dismissive? Ungrateful pig. The rush of anger was as sudden as it was violent - anger, frustration, disappointment all in a single flush.

"My prayers!" James snarled, and jumped to his feet. 

He tucked himself back in haphazardly, but he was too stiff to be able to button up. He wanted to add he'd say no prayers that night, save perhaps for Sir John's sinful soul, that he would touch himself long and hard and soil his drawers and his bedsheets and that no one would stop him at all. But something in Sir John's gaze forbade him to speak, a dash of sternness, a hint of a threat of being beaten again when he was still sore from earlier: the primal fear of being entirely subjected to his whims and at his mercy as long as they were alone like this.

Mortified, unspeakably hard, still not fully clothed, James stormed out of the great cabin in catastrophe.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dundy cleans up the mess (as always).

* * *

James did not know what he looked like when he stepped outside, but the moment Dundy saw him his readily mocking grin vanished from his lips and he grew serious at once. He stepped closer to him, shielding him with his body from any possible onlookers in the passageway. But the ship was still deserted and silent save for the creaking of the ice and the steps of the watch on deck.

"This way, sir," Henry said gently. 

He only called James 'sir' when they were in public, so this was unusual enough to draw his attention and to focus on him instead of on the turmoil raging inside him. Dundy held him by the arm and led him into James's cabin - mercifully close to Sir John's, which made James's appearance in the passageway only very brief. 

"Good grief, Jamie," he said, once the sliding door was locked. 

"Don't say a word!" James hissed, furious all anew with the concern in Dundy's gaze. "The... noise. Did anyone hear?"

"I heard," Dundy said. "But only very faintly. The strikes were unlikely to be heard, I would think, the door muffled them well. But your, your... cries of protest, perhaps so. No one came enquiring, in any case."

Unable to hold back the pent-up frustration any longer, James slapped a hand on his desk, making his books and his pens jump up and clatter down on the floor of the cabin.

"There now," Henry said, and stepped closer to him and slid one arm around his waist. "Easy there." 

James struggled out of his arms, or tried to, but Dundy was holding him too firmly. The fight seemed to deflate out of him after his outburst: James let out a sigh and relented into the embrace, shaking a little as he rested his weight on Henry. 

"Shush now, my darling," Dundy said, and his hand closed on James's swollen prick. "Come here."

After so many years he knew just how to frig him - the up and down motions that James favoured, as well as the soft rubbing of the tip to tease the small orifice. It did not take very long, not after all the discomposure at the hands of Sir John. James closed his eyes and pressed his head to Dundy's shoulder. He was not wearing epaulettes on his lighter coat, which allowed James to burrow into it. Henry smelled nice, familiar. Comforting. His hand was going faster now, firmer, more intent. James let go, shuddered and spilt into Henry's fist with a ragged gasp muffled by the clothes.

"That's right," Dundy said, still shushing him as he pumped him dry. "That's good." 

The orgasm felt not as explosive or as satisfying as James was aching for, but relief did flow through him at once. A strange weariness set on him heavily. He had not wanted to cry during the caning and yet some tears had threatened to spill, and he now felt very much like sobbing, but no tears would come.

Dundy pulled out a handkerchief without letting go of him and wiped his face very gently - drying the sweat, but also the remains of Sir John's emissions. 

"He got some on your hair," Henry said as he wiped his own hand clean. "That was not very nice of him." Too embarrassed to protest, James only made a muffled sound against him. "I daresay this did not go the way either of us had imagined. I am quite sorry I ever got that idea in your head."

"Don't," James said. He pulled away, enough to shake his head no. "It, it was not... wholly unpleasant."

Dundy let out a soft laugh. "That's more like you, aye."

"Towards the end, I just... I wish he..." James made a frustrated gesture with his hand and did not finish his sentence.

"I know," Henry said. "But that was unlikely to happen, given how he is. It should have occurred to either of us that it might end like this. I am impressed you got this far at all."

"Oh good. Impressing you was half my drive," James said, intending to be sarcastic, but realised it was not untrue as soon as he said it. He glared at Dundy, who laughed again.

"You know, I am tempted to add _'It isn't buggery if it goes in my mouth, sir'_ to your legendary phrases, along with..."

"Stop speaking right now!" James slapped his fingers to Henry's mouth to stop him from saying more, a little too sharply perhaps, but it only made him laugh harder.

"All right, all right. Come on, let me see if there's anything to be salvaged back here."

Dundy helped him undress, though removing the boots without sitting was a bit of an ordeal. James had to stand on one leg, using the berth to keep his balance while Henry pulled each one off. He then slid the trousers off him completely, but only lowered the long drawers to mid-thigh, enough to leave James's arse uncovered to examine it. He lifted up the shirt and let out a whistle as he bent down.

"Well, he got you good," he said, shaking his head. 

"Yes, all right, get on with it!"

"I  _ am _ getting on with it!" 

Dundy stroked him with one finger, tracing one of the welts. James shuddered at the feathery sensation, in equal parts pleasing and painful, and no less because he could feel the contrast of the abnormal warmth radiating from his behind and the natural cool of Henry's hand. 

"That will leave some nasty bruising by tomorrow. I would not have thought him vicious enough to strike you across. He nearly cut you here." James hissed with the pressure of Dundy's finger on the tender skin. "And he got your sitting spots, too. You will not have fun at breakfast tomorrow."

"My sitting spots?"

"My God, you really  _ were _ a spoiled child. This bit here." Henry's delicious fingers stroked just where James's arse met his thighs - a particularly throbbing location. Oh, yes, he recalled, Sir John had struck him there several times. "There will be Hell to pay when you sit down tomorrow. But all in all, you're no worse for the wear. You've been very brave."

Dundy smirked up at him, and James felt his face flushing with the childish tease.

"I am glad we did not meet when we were boys," he said, somewhat indignantly as he tried to pull his drawers up. "I would have hated you." 

His idea was to throw himself dramatically on the berth and to sulk there in peace until his heart stopped racing and his mind quieted down from the excesses of the last hour, but James found that he would rather keep his drawers down to cool off with the polar chill of the ship. But climbing was a bit of a challenge with his current state of undress. Huffing a little, he managed to lie face down and crawled upwards on the bed to make himself more comfortable while ignoring Henry's amused snickering. 

"Poor thing," he said. "Some fresh water might help the stinging."

"My water must be freezing just now," James said, looking at the bassinet Mister Bridgens had left for him to wash earlier that day. A thin film of ice had indeed formed on half of the surface. "And I will _not_ ring for more."

"The colder, the better."

Henry lifted the bassinet and put it on the lone chair of the cabin, next to the bed. He then opened one of James's chests to pull out a clean, white handkerchief that he dipped in the water. Sitting at the foot of James's berth, Dundy then wrung the wet cloth and twisted it into a ball. 

James gasped.

How marvellous - the freezing cold cloth on his burning arse. He let out a soft moan, shocked with the unexpected depths of so simple a relief. Dundy stroked him gingerly, running the wet handkerchief ball on the welts, one by one, awakening and firing up sensations that the suffering had numbed before. James could not help writhing a little, pressing down against the bedcovers both to escape and to savour the confusing discomfort. He was too drained to feel aroused again, at least not in its more evident manifestation, but it certainly did cause him a fair amount of agitation. He turned his head to meet Dundy's gaze, who was tending to him with an unassuming look on his face.

"You don't have to do this, you know," James said. 

"No?" Henry raised one eyebrow. "Must I call Goodsir?"

"Don't you dare! But no, leave the handkerchief here. I will apply it on myself."

"Don't be silly," Dundy said. "I don't mind doing this."

He was as methodical here as he was in the running of the ship, leaving no inch untouched by the cold cloth. At some point he dipped the handkerchief into the water again, unfolded it and laid it on a single arsecheek, covering most of it with the cloth. James moaned once more - into the pillow to preserve some dignity. It felt so good. The other arsecheek received a similar treatment moments later, leaving him in a contented stupor. It was so soothing he felt himself starting to doze off, and yet he was wide awake.

"There now," Dundy said. "Try to sleep it off, if you can. I don't know that you like sleeping on your stomach, but it will have to do."

"Mm," James mumbled, still not knowing how he felt.

Dundy put the chair and the bassinet back into their places. He also picked up the books and the pens James had flung off the desk in his angry fit and lined them up just as carefully as they had been. James almost told him to leave it to Bridgens, but he could guess Henry would reply again,  _ I don't mind. _ So he stayed silent and watched him fix up the mess of the cabin much like he had fixed up the mess that was James. Then Dundy bent down and placed a kiss to James's face, very close to his mouth - a soft kiss, disconcertingly gentle. He seemed ready to leave.

"Harry," James said, his voice a little hoarse. "And you? Stay..."

"Me?" Henry stroked his back over the shirt, letting his glance wander on James's still uncovered arse. "As tempting as you are, completely undone like this, I think I'd rather have my way with you when it's me you desire. In a day or two, perhaps."

James scoffed at this. "You are so tediously possessive at times."

"Only a little. But hey." He ruffled James's hair affectionately. "You may send me into someone else's arms next. So that we are even."

"Ohh," James said with a contented sigh, thinking he might sleep after all if his hair was stroked. "The cook. Mister Wall. I know you want him."

"I do  _ not, _ " Dundy said indignantly. "I want his pastries."

"Same thing. For you. Isn't it?"

The poor lighting was just enough for him to notice Dundy blushing red. James giggled into the pillow.

"Shush, you. I am going to leave now, before you continue with your outrageous accusations. I will come rouse you at two bells, if you aren't awake by then."

Some time after Dundy had gone, just as James tried to make himself more comfortable on the narrow berth, it occurred to him Sir John was still in possession of the cane. No one implied this would be an isolated incident between them. Sir John had enjoyed it, evidently, he had enjoyed the deviant scenario enough to let his guard down - so if James's aim had been to please him he had certainly succeeded. But judging from the way he was dismissed, it would be unlikely to happen again. Wasn't it? James squirmed on the bed, unsure whether a repeat performance thrilled him or filled him with dread. Not with the ghastly cane, certainly, but perhaps...? On Sir John's lap? And with his hand? He squirmed some more, getting more agitated at the thought, and fell into uneasy dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the end, but James had to just go and have that naughty little thought in the last two sentences so I'm going to leave the work incomplete in case I feel like writing a second round in the near future... Let me know if you'd like it :)


End file.
